


By the Seashore

by safelystowed



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Neverland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safelystowed/pseuds/safelystowed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a fic-exchange: Win and Fred enjoy a seaside holiday together just after Fred has recovered from the shooting. Win finally confesses how scared she was. Mixed with holiday fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Seashore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pudupudu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pudupudu/gifts).



> Set in August 1967 in Cornwall.

Win gently brushed some sand from the peeling white paint of the corner bench and sat down, enjoying the feel of the late summer sun on her face and the bustle of people around her as she waited for Fred to return. The town of Looe was filled with families making the most of the school holidays. They’d been lucky to secure hotel accommodation at that time of the year, thanks to a couple of Joan’s friends who had cancelled their plans and given them rooms. It had been a last minute idea, this trip to the seaside. A surprise holiday, just for the two of them, organised by Sam and Joan to give them a break before Fred’s imminent return to work at the start of September. _September_. Win felt a flutter of anxiety inside her. Within a few weeks he’d be back, right in the thick of things, right back in the path of things that could turn bad…

Fred materialised at her shoulder, balancing two ice-creams in one hand as he popped his hat back on. Dressed casually in a light sweater, with colour in his cheeks and a twinkle in his eye, he looked the picture of health. It was only when he spoke that a vague hint of lingering hoarseness betrayed the pneumonia that had presented itself at various points of his recovery.

“What do you say to a walk along the beach?”

“That sounds lovely.” Taking her cone, Win tucked her arm into Fred’s proffered elbow and together they ambled down the street towards the sand dotted with deck chairs and swimmers, taking in the crisp salt-tinged breeze and the dull bellows of the ocean. A line of children sat on a stone wall, giggling at a colourful Punch and Judy show and tossing crusts to the black-headed gulls that perched beside them, joining in the laughter with occasional squawks and screeches. A man on tall stilts lifted his green top-hat to Win, calling a cheery _Good morning!_ from his perch high in the sky before stalking off, leaving small circular prints in the sand behind him. Win took a deep breath of fresh ocean air and felt herself relax.

“We haven’t been here in an age,” she said as they reached the end of the sand and began making their way along a cobbled path.

“We haven’t. What’s it been? Seven, eight years since our last visit?” Fred took a bite of his ice-cream. “Being DI doesn’t leave much room for long holidays.”

Win bit her lip. “You should take it easy this year. Take a day off now and then.”

“I’ve taken enough time off already. Can’t leave the young ones larking about without my supervision.”

Win smiled. Morse had visited regularly, bringing bits and pieces of news and helping keep Fred occupied. She’d ruled with an iron fist and forbidden all discussion of cases or work, and the young detective had dutifully obeyed despite Fred’s prodding. He had missed work, she knew. After the relief of clearing up Morse’s incriminations and being discharged from hospital it hadn’t been long before he’d gotten restless for something more interesting than newspapers and walks.

Their path rounded onto a steep grassy bank that sloped down towards a shingle-covered beach, quieter than the one they had just left. The tide was out revealing scattered rock pools and strands of tangled seaweed. Not too far out Looe Island rose above the sea like the moss-covered humped back of a sea serpent peeking out of the water. Memories came flooding back. She could see Fred, a significantly younger Fred, consoling a tearful Joan after two-year old Sam pushed her into a rock pool filled with sea slugs. She could remember sitting on the soft, damp grass, sipping lemonade and watching Fred wade into the sea, clutching the hand of one child on either side as they squealed and pranced in the waves before a spectacularly large one knocked all three of them clean off their feet. Devouring Cornish pasties before riding with Joan on the carousel. Coming back when the children were older and more interested in rambles in the surrounding countryside and watching the yacht races. Climbing up the cliffs with Sam during his bird-watching phase and waving to Fred and Joan through binoculars as they went rowing far below.

And there was another memory, a much earlier memory, when just the two of them went for a stroll along this very stretch of beach, Fred neatly dressed in his uniform, on their tiny last holiday before he was shipped off to the war. Right before they’d had to endure months of separation before the arrival of that dreadful telegram.

Win shuddered. She could remember the day as clearly as if it were yesterday. She’d been standing on a stool, cleaning the shelf with her green and blue duster, second one from the top in the study, when there’d been a polite ring at the door and she’d opened it to see a terribly young and terribly nervous looking officer standing on the doorstep. Her head had started spinning, and the officer had grabbed her arm to stop her toppling over and quickly offered to make her a cup of tea. The relief that Fred was still alive had not been able to reverse the stab of dread that had already run through her, when for half a minute she had thought that there was a very strong chance he was gone. Gone forever. And she’d thought those days were gone forever as well….

“What’s wrong?” Fred stopped and turned to her in concern. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m just cold.” She tried to smile.

“No you’re not.” He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You’ve been a bit nervy recently. Tell me what’s worrying you. You’ll be having me anxious next.”

“I’m just… worried about _you_.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? The doctor’s not worried about me. Says I’m as fit as can be expected.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Fred was silent for a moment. “It won’t be any different from before,” he said at last. “Business as usual. We managed alright.”

“It’s not that I never thought about the danger. I did, constantly.” Win pulled her cardigan closer around her shoulders. She was really feeling cold now. “It’s just that I haven’t been so scared for you Fred, since the war.”

“The war’s long gone." 

“At least you knew who to look out for in the war. This was one of your own.”

“Well, that’s all cleared up now. Wheat from chaff. Good men have my back- Morse, McNutt, Jakes- and I have theirs.”

Win’s ice-cream had started to melt and vanilla droplets drizzled onto her hand. Absently, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and mopped them up. “It was worse than getting that telegram,” she continued quietly. “Waiting. All night, with not a peep from the telephone. I didn’t even know where you’d gone. All sorts of frightful things went through my mind.”

She didn’t mention that she had gone to the shed and seen the empty box that she knew usually housed his gun, or that she’d put off ringing the station herself because she hadn’t wanted to disturb anything important, and had hoped that with each minute a tired Fred would come through the door. She’d waited all night, and with the early rays of morning sunshine Joan and Sam had discovered her sitting on the couch, and had waited with her until there was a polite ring at the door. There was no Fred standing on the doorstep, nor a nervous looking young officer, but the grave personage of Reginald Bright who promptly removed his hat and softly asked if he could come inside.

By now she was trembling. Fred pulled her into a tight embrace and she buried her head in his shoulder. For a long moment they stood there, in silence, the breeze tousling their hair and the ocean roaring as if it were far away when it was really only yards behind them. As a seagull flapped over their heads Win stepped back, letting the wind blow away her tears, taking the salt with it. Fred looked her in the eyes.

“I love you Win Thursday, and it’s because I love you that I do what I do. By being a copper I know that I can nip harm in the bud before it gets to you, or to the kids, or to anyone else. That’s my piece in life. It’s dangerous, but someone has to do it, and it may as well be tough old me who’s been shot twice and is still hanging around. They won’t get rid of me so easily.”

Win smiled and wiped at her eyes. Fred took her hand and they began walking back to the path.

“I can’t take away the worry,” he continued, “But just know that wherever I go, and whatever happens, no matter how long it takes, I’ll be back.”

And Win knew that he was right. As they returned to town amid the bustle of holiday-makers, with the sky just starting to tinge pink with the start of a gorgeous sunset, she began to feel more at ease. Whether he was across town, in a hospital ward, in another country, even as far away as North Africa, her Fred would always come home.


End file.
